It walks below me on the sidewalk. He is all black with white socks. He lowers his head to the ground and shoots his awareness side to side in quick flashes untraceable to the human eye. You gaze at him as he walks, cigarette in mouth. No noises made except the flick of a cigarette. The cat stops.

His head shoots straight up. 20 feet above him, watching, a human. His eyes are gold and his stare is fierce. The cat does not trust.

It was this moment he realized he went from predator to prey. His stance widens, his middle back arches. I make a playful hissing noise to show that I mean no trouble. The cat continues to walk. His day is not over. Neither is mine. Cigarette finished, territories established.

The cat does not have time for my ****.